Never Admit to Anything
by Zoo Crew
Summary: Speedsters with no sense of personal space, babysitting for the most dangerous toddler and ten year old in existence, walking in at the exact wrong time, the banning of the letter W, an awkward love triangle and liking a boy with some unresolved anger issues. And more then a few skeletons in the closet. All in a days work for Hafsa El-Amin
1. Prologue

This is my first time doing this and I apologize in advance if the characters are too AU. Review because thats my lifeforce! Also I own nothing but my own awesomeness

Bialyan-American Hafsa El-Amin prefers to forget the homeland her family fled when she was only a little girl and get on with her life in Boston. That is, until she nearly charbroilers a would be mugger. Suddenly she's thrust into a world of espionage justice and superheroes that she's only seen on tv in times of crisis. (or when the latest super freak has decided to throw a major hissy fit) So now the new superhero has to deal with a brutal training regime, high stakes missions and not looking completely stupefied when she see's Batman walk in. Also speedsters with no sense of personal space, babysitting for the most dangerous toddler and ten year old in existence, walking in at the exact wrong time, the banning of the letter W, the most awkward love triangle in the history of existence and liking a boy with some unresolved anger issues. Oh, and the crippling secret she hides that could destroy everything she's worked so hard for.

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><p><em>"Italics"<em>= Spoken Languages other than English

Prologue

I don't remember much about the "Mother Country." Partly because I was only five when we left it and partly because sometimes its easier to block out things that make you sad and confused. I remember the inside of our house of course, all soft brown walls smelling of spices beginning with the letter C and old books and laundry detergent. The gardens, I remember those too. All around a scrubby red desert but in the palace garden it might has well have been the best maintained rainforest in all the world, with the artificial lake and the lush tropical flowers and trees. The palace too, shining all in gleaming white and gold like a jewel in a city of soft brown and red sand. The soldiers dressed all in black, faces hidden with huge guns slung over their shoulders, matching up the streets, the thump of their boots echoing off the paving stones and bouncing back to them off the walls. I remember sitting on the floor of that very same palaces kitchen as my mother cooked and the waitstaff, all men, bustled and carried dishes up to the royal apartments. I also remember the day we escaped.

I couldn't understand why until much later. Typical kid, thinking everything is fine when it really isn't. One day Dad had just had enough. He used to be the queens… well I guess you could call it publicist. Making up rhetoric, getting posters printed, writing speeches, organizing appearances… and sifting through old Bialyan records in the government library to erase or disprove anyone elses claim to the throne. Typical dictator management stuff. And I guess one day he had just had it. We had all just sat down to dinner, him, Mama who was eight months pregnant with my baby brother, my big brother Humam, my uncle Imad and I. Papa had the same worried far off look he always got after he came from work, like he was trying to remember something but can't quite put his finger on it, or like he was waking up from a strange dream. For a while he just sits there, listening to mama ask Humam and I about school and Imad about the latest gossip he's heard from the guys he knows in the palace. And then, without warning, papa stands up and hurls his plate kofta and rice at the wall, where it shatters. And then he starts yelling.

Not at anyone, he seems to be addressing the now meat and rice stained wall more than anyone in particular, yelling and cursing and throwing insults that would make a sailor blush. And as quickly as he started its over. He sinks back down in his chair, puts his hands over his face and begins to shake like a dry leaf in a stiff breeze. There's a moment of stunned silence. Humam and I exchange a look and even though he's seven years older than me, I can see my own fear reflected in his eyes.

This isn't right, our eyes say to each other. Papa isn't like this.

And we are right. Papa isn't like this. In fact in all the years of my short life, our Papa has never acted like that. Our Papa, our hardworking, non-complaining, logical, quiet, loving, bookish Papa has never even raised his voice. And it scares us.

About ten seconds later we are shooed to our room so that the grown ups can talk privately. My big brother being my big brother however, he brings the water glass he was drinking from and presses it against the door so he can listen. We take turns pressing our ear to the bottom of the glass, and catch snaches of muffled conversation. I don't understand what their talking about, theres a lot of big words and ideas that I'm too young to understand yet, but its easy to realize that all of them are scared. And angry.

The muffled conversations don't stop there. In fact they keep building in frequency almost as much as they keep shrinking in volume. Things began turning up at our house, brought in mostly by Mama and Uncle Imad. Little things, like water bottles, road maps and dark fabric. Two months pass and mama gives birth to my little brother Jawdah and sells almost all his birth gifts. She comes back with almost four-thousand opjad in cash. Weeks turn into months as gear piles up and cash is squirreled away into a large sugar bowl on the top shelf. I sit by and wonder what on earth is going on.

My sixth birthday comes on the 28th of January, 3 days before the Hamjab, a week long celebration of Najm Al Din, the founder of Bialya, for each day he survived the Mad King Qutaybah's attempts to kill him by blade, arrow and fist by the grace of god. During the celebration no man is to lift a hand against another unless in self defense. Including Queen Bee's soldiers.

Little did I know that had been the gap my parents and uncle had been waiting for. My party was vastly elaborate, crammed with relatives, expensive food, all my friends from school and I had my first kiss with a boy named Rami. Looking back, my parents must have felt guilty about the fact that in three days they would be taking me away from everything I had ever known. This was our last hurrah in Bialya, a final celebration to say goodbye and leave without any regrets. That night I went to bed a queen.

Three days later I was awoken to Humam shaking my shoulder gently. It was still dark out and he hadn't turned on a light, a fact that confused me.

_"Mama told me to get you up"_ he said.

_"Get your clothes on, and don't turn on the light."_

_"Why?"_ I said.

_"Its a game. We have got to get dressed as quickly as possible in the dark and then we have to go out to meet Papa and Uncle Imad. And the first one to make a noise until Papa says so loses."_

_"Where are we going?"_

_"Out. Oh and pretend the house is on fire and you can only bring three things, ok?"_

_"Wouldn't we call the firehouse if the house was on fire?"_

_"Those are the rules Hafsa. In the game, there no firehouse."_

_"Ok…"_

_"Good. Now get dressed!"_

I did. Picking the three things was harder. I took my doll, Aafreen, and my silk scarf that was a birth gift from Grandma, but I got stuck on the last object. Finally Humam gets sick of waiting for me and pulls out a battered but beautiful book of fairytales from the shelf.

_"Take this and get going! I've been ready for forever!"_

I stuck my tongue out at him but hurried all the same. Little did I know that would be the last time I would ever see the bedroom we had shared since I was two...

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><p>So… Yah… Meet Hafsa everyone! Because I don't have a lot to say about her just yet (Working on it I promise!) I'm going to tell you about my perception of Bialya….<p>

I invision Bialya as a place of rich history, innovations and traditions that has fallen on hard times. (The whole Queen Bee thing)

For the most part everyone tries to live their lives best they can, and it's a relatively normal, except for the fact that the rest of the world sort of avoids it like the plague. Like the Ottoman Empire, Bialya functioned quite peacefully as a Monarchy from the 11th century till the 20th, when pressure of the modern world and its steadily dissolving aristocracy prompted the government to become a constitutional monarchy in 1908. This, also, went smoothly until there was a military coup by Queen Bee's adolescent mother in the early 70's. Only having a semi-legitimate claim to the throne, Queen Bee's mother, in an attempt to protect her new found power, turned Bialya into a Military Dictatorship and ruled with an iron fist. Queen Bee was born in 1982 and became the country's dictator when she turned eighteen, shortly after her mother died in suspect circumstances. It is believed she is an illegitimate child and has no royal blood whatsoever, but so far all attempts to prove this have ended in failure in rather grand and explosive ways.

Bialya borrows traits from the countries in the Arab League, but due to my limited knowledge (besides what I find on the internet) I may get things wrong, so I apologize if I offend anyone. Oh, and to anyone who is wondering, opjad is a made up currency. One opjad equals about 38 cents in USD.

Should I continue? Yes? No? Tell me all about it in the Reviews section.

Zoo Out, Peace!


	2. Chapter 1: In which I die, Sort of

I did it! I finished the second chapter in my set limit! (That I had to push back from two months to four but whatever!) And (finally) the Team! Ok three of them, but thats three times as much as was in last chapter! I apologize for any OC-ness and hope you trust me that there is a good reason for it. Enjoy!

Also, except for Hafsa, her family and the ever growing number of plot bunnies in my head, I own nothing!

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><p>"Italics" = Spoken in a languages other than English<p>

Italics = Thoughts

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><p>Chapter 1<p>

In which I die… Sort of

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><p>Boston, MA<p>

February 5th 2017, 19:43 EDT

"Son of a bitch!"

I aimed a heartfelt kick at the now tireless wheels of the Buick, only to realize, two seconds too late, that kicking ANYTHING metal, even with the best winter boots, hurts. A lot. One colorfully worded minute later I leaned on the hood of the car, rubbing my poor injured foot and cursing my bad luck under my breath. I had been in the bathroom for like what? 5-6 minutes? And somehow somebody had made off with my tires before I even came out of the loo of the gas station to wash my hands. It stunk, it royally did. And the day had started off so well too… The phone call at breakfast from Humam, who said the overseas engineering job he was working on had finished sooner than expected so he would be able to come and see us next week for Mom and Dad's Anniversary… The B+ on the English assignment I was so sure I had bombed… The A.I. software competition Mr. Mark has announced at robotics club… And the call from my GirlsGetCars (GGC) Teacher Miss Brooks, saying she had found an awesome classic chassis within my price range.

And now here I was, no wheels, a dead phone and no money for bus fare, stranded in the shittiest part of town at night. Woopie. Not for the first time did I curse that my car had been made before the advent of pocket computers. I loved the Century, but the fact that it had first seen the light of day in 1958 told you something about its technological advancements. It had taken me weeks to get the old rusted engine working and an additional 48 hours to get the heat and headlights reinstalled. Even so I would probably have to scrap most of the original hardware of the car if I ever wanted to meet modern safety standards.

I sighed heavily as slid into the beat up drivers seat, slammed the door, (As much you can slam a door that sticks about halfway through the slam and has to be jiggled a bit to get it unstuck) slumped in the seat and considered my options. My curfew was 11 pm on weekends with a twenty minute grace period before Mom stopped being annoyed I had missed my curfew and began to worry if I was dead in a ditch somewhere. Then there would probably be a good hour to get to where I was stranded and back with me in toe after she asked H.I.M. to track my phone, perhaps with an additional 30-45 minutes to try and find a tow truck for the Century. All in all, I had a minimum 2 hour wait before I could get any help without risking being jumped for my wallet. I sighed again and my gaze drifted over to the back seat, where my backpack lay full to bursting with AP and Honors homework left to do. I sighed again. I had MEANT to do it on my bed with a bowl full of popcorn and Sick Puppies blaring in my ears, but beggars can't be choosers and misery loves company. So with one final, heartfelt sigh, I reached in the back and rummaged around for my French textbook.

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Five blocks away, three figures crouch on top of an abandoned warehouse. The cold February wind whipped around them blowing snow into their faces and down the necks of their dark grey coats. They didn't move. They didn't speak. At least for a little while.

"I am so borrrreeed!"

"Hermano, your always bored."

"I am not! Says who?"

"Says everyone who has had the PLEASURE of your company for five seconds. Now can you please shut up and pay attention."

"Wha… look SPEEDY…"

"Call me that again and you're looking at an arrow shoved up your…"

"Ay dios mio, guys! Do you have to argue EVERY SINGLE TIME one of you speaks!"

"..."

"..."

"He started... "

"I don't care who started it, I'll finish it! And NO I am NOT authorizing the use of the plasma cannon!"

Silence. Then…

"I don't get why we can't just bust them now. We got enough evidence to lock these scumbags up to rot. Why put off the inevitable?"

"For once, I agree with daddy issues."

"Daddy issu… Listen you little Lactaid…"

"Did you just call me what I think you just called me!"

"You heard me you little…"

"Oh that's it! Prepare to be…"

There was a sound akin to two coconuts colliding followed shortly thereafter by two twin cries of pain.

"What part of a stakeout do you two fail to understand! Now sit down, shut up and watch the stinking warehouse, bien?!"

"... Fine."

"Yha sure, whatever you say Blue."

More silence.

"Hey Blue."

"What now?!"

"Geeze ermano. High strung much?"

"Sorry, I just hate the cold. You were saying?"

"This guy… The one who's running the chop shop/Reach knockoff distribution center?"

"What about him? Wait, do you see him!"

"What, no! At least not yet. But didn't Superboy say something about him having a love of classic cars?"

"Hermano, do you even know what a classic car is?"

"Yhaaaaaa no. We don't have classic ANYTHING in the future. It basicly all take it or starve. BUT I do know that I have been here awhile and I haven't seen any cars that look like THAT."

"..."

"..."

"Bart, Khaji Da says thats a 2007 Dodge Pickup. Their kinda common."

"What? No! Not that one! Four blocks down, near the gas station! That one."

"..."

"..."

"Well?!"

"Somebodys in there…"

"WHAT DID I TELL YA! So lets get down there and…"

"But its not him!"

"Second in command?"

"No."

"Third?"

"Impulse its a girl."

"Girlfriend?"

"Wha… NO! She's the same age as Arsenal!"

"Are you…"

"For crying out loud, She's doing AP and Honors level math homework!"

"Ok, Ok…"

"..."

"..."

"Ese, I realize I might regret this question but… where's Arsenal?"

"You know… I'm not sure."

"..."

"..."

"Oh no."

BOOM!

The sound shook the Century, rattling the windows and causing the rusted framework to rattle dangerously. I was thrown forward, my head connecting with the wheel with a solid thunk. Little blue dots danced before my eyes as I clutched my head and moaned. My own voice came through my ears slightly muffled, like sounds heard underwater. Through bleary eyes colors danced in red, yellow,grey and blue. I thought I heard screams. I thought I smelled smoke. And a flaming tire bouncing off the nearby roof. I keeled over, tucked my head between my knees, shut my eyes tight and waited for it all to STOP.

Inside burning warehouse was pure pandemonium. Heavyset men rushed back and forth, hacking on the blue-black smoke, throwing fire blankets and extinguishers foam every which way in an attempt to smother the unnatural pink flames before they spiraled out of control. Hidden in the chaos a significantly smaller man in a singed labcoat hurried in and out between the piles of crates. He was lugging a very heavy briefcase. He had not been expecting the explosion to be so perfectly timed to his bosses plan. He was also not expecting the rather sharp blow to the head that sent him off to dreamland.

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The Blue Beetle lowered his mace and smoothly transformed the living metal back to its usual blue-black gauntlet. A yellow-red blur zoomed up next to him and dropped a considerable amount of handheld artillery off at his feet.

"Thats all I could find. Good news is Daddy-Issues has them so distracted with the fire they left the armory wide open. Bad news is that I'm pretty sure all our evidence is going up in smoke."

Blue Beetle knelt and examined the fallen man's briefcase. It was old and battered, but the lock on it looked surprisingly shiny and new. Ignoring Khaji Da's insistence that simply blasting the case with a high frequency sonic blast would be easier, Blue Beetle fashioned his hand into a delicate lockpick and inserted it into the miniscule gap between the combination lock and the metal end of the fastening. After a few seconds of fiddling, there came a small, but satisfying click of tumblers releasing. The case fell open and a creamy white folder full of papers spilled out onto the floor. Beneath his mask Blue Beetle grinned.

"I wouldn't say ALL of it hermono."

But Kid Flash wasn't listening. He was too busy staring, open mouthed, at the secondary contents of the case.

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There weren't many times in Arsenals life nowadays when he was really, truly happy.

To be fair, you would be pretty pissed too if you woke up in a glorified freezer only to find not only that your 23rd birthday had came and went and you were still a 15 year old punk, but you could now be put on the list of the disabled, and your best friend, your partner, (Your father really, though you wouldn't admit that, except in the darkest regions of your head) had spent the past 3 years thinking a clone was you and another 5 not even trying to find you because he gave up on you as a lost cause. To say that had stung would be the understatement of the millennium.

But right here, right now, Arsenal was giving scumbags hell and enjoying every single second of it. Forget The Bat. Forget Nightwing. Forget Green, forget even that crazy MOFO Red Hood, HE was every villains worst nightmare personified, because to him, it was personal. And despite everything the big guys up in the watchtower said, he was STILL within the restraints of the law. They acted like the FBI, CIA, The Cops and even guys like The Bat and Green didn't use tactics like his own when the situation called for it.

Well whatever. He would get his job done, stay within the restrictions of the law AND get his revenge. The rest was just the icing on top, something to rub Lex Luther's face in when the time came to finally get even. And he would. Of that he had no doubt.

A movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Wiping about quick as a snake, he spotted a large black shape bolting through a side door. A feral grin spread across his face. So somebody wanted to play hooky from the law? Fine with him. Just meant the scumbag had forfeited his chance at going down the easy way. Aiming the muzzle of his cybernetic arm, he fired at a large glass skylight. The grapple hit and the skylight burst in a rain of flame colored shards as Arsenal flew up and out into the murky winter night.

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Like a turtle sticking its head out of it's shell an inch at a time, I carefully peaked my head up and over the dashboard. The whole street was bathed in fluorescent fuchsia light, as if from a giant neon sign, except it all seemed to be coming from a burning building a few blocks away. I blinked stupidly for a second, and held up my hand to shield my eyes from the intense glare. The skin on my hands gleamed a weird red-yellow hue in the flickering glow of the fire. In the same offhanded way you know the sky is blue, a part of myself; A small, wiggly part that had been part of mankind since our ancient ancestors had decided getting eaten by things with significantly more pointy bits then you is a bad way to start a day, was kicking and screaming something along the lines of,

Holy Sh*t, Holy Sh*t, Holy Sh*t, Get out we're gonna die!

Eventually it must have found the right switch. My gut clenched, my stomach roiled and my limbs decided that being only a few blocks away from those unnatural flames was way, WAY too close. I worked on panicked automatic. I lept back up in to the drivers seat, jammed the key in to the ignition, cranked it a few times until it actually started, slammed on the gas… And was rewarded by the deafening screech of metal on concrete and a tooth jarring thump as the tireless front wheels ground off the cement blocks they were jacked up on. Well… so much for that plan. Ok, new plan. Grab my coat and backpack and leg it to the nearest police or fire station to wait it out, zigzagging in and out of alleys to prevent being seen. Now preferably.

I had made it almost three blocks before something slammed into me and sent us both sprawling on the icy pavement.

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Five blocks away, two figures shrouded in the shadows of a rusty water tower watched as bright red fire trucks and blaring police cars surrounded the now merely smoldering ruins of the warehouse. Both of them were still in a state of mild shock. As they watched the collection of criminals they had rescued and subsequently restrained being arrested and ducked into police cars, Kid Flash finally spoke up.

"Sooooo… did you?

"Yes."

"And the…"

"Yes. I left it next to the guy in the labcoat."

"..."

"..."

"Out of interest, how much…"

"Khaji Da said it was about $1.4 million."

"Yeesh! I know people say crime doesn't pay but…"

"I know."

"..."

"..."

"The papers?"

"Khaji Da scanned all of them. The police have the hard copies."

"Oh. Ok then."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"We should probably go find Arsenal now."

"Most likely."

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After a few extremely productive moments of panicked wheezing, (You would be to if something that felt like a surprise steam engine barreled into your gut) A few comprehensive thoughts began to jump up and down repeatedly in their effort to get noticed. First was that I was face first in the very cold, very wet, very dirty slush on on the side of a dead end alley. Second was the fact that the fall had gouged stinging, grit filled lines in my exposed palms. And last was that there was a very large, very heavy, very smelly weight on my back.

The weight cursed. Through the eye that wasn't completely full of dirty snow, I watched as a extremely scruffy, extremely cooked, extremely scared man, pushed himself off of me with extreme speed.

"Wha… What the HELL!" His eyes were huge and he whirled around like a trapped animal, searching the shadows and trembling like a leaf.

"Where are you ya' son of a bitch! Come on! Show yourself!"

The darkness did not reply.

Ok… Big crazy guy yelling at darkness with… yep, thats a gun under his jacket. So my options are run aaaannnnd... run. Super. Glad we sorted that all out.

Unfortunately, (You sensing a pattern here?) Mr. Tall, dark and psycho seemed to reach a conclusion at the same time my butt was preparing to kick into full gear. His hand snapped out like a snake and grabbed the hood of my jacket, effectively clotheslining me and giving him enough time to grab a wrist before my pain infused mind could gather enough brain cells together to wiggle free. I thrashed and kicked and screamed like a snared rabbit, before going as still and silent as a statue. A revolver pressed to your temple tends to have that effect on people. Once again the man addressed the darkness.

"Alright you crazy MOFO, I don't know who you are or what you want, but one false move and the girl gets it alright? Her and me are gonna walk. Nice and slow-like. And if I even think I hear a peep, she's taco meat."

Taco meat. Not exactly how I envisioned being referred to as when I died. Sweetheart certainly. Mom more than likely. Grandma hopefully. Actually I envisioned it as a quiet passing in a comfy bed when I was about 94 but that option was slowly becoming more and more unlikely, considering my current situation.

Once again the darkness said nothing. My captor was beginning to sweat buckets and when he licked a bead of the stuff off his upper lip I caught a good whiff of his breath. It stunk of cigars and garlic.

"Well? I'm not seeing any weapons on the ground. If I don't see 'em in ten seconds and little missy is pushing up daisy's! One…"

Please drop the gun. Please.

"Two…"

Seriously please. I'm begging here!

"Three…"

Even if you drop them right now, you, sir, are an asshole.

"Four…"

I mean the worst person possible.

"Five…"

You should not even be part of humanity. You may be the devil in disguise.

"Six…"

PLEASE! I DON'T WANNA DIE!

"Seven…"

You are not real. You cannot be real. You are… Oh no.

"Eight…"

You're not real. This guy holding me hostage is clinically insane and you're a figment of his wacked out imagination.

"Nine…"

I'm gonna die.

Sorry Mom, Dad, Humam, Jawdah. At least I can see Uncle Imad and Gido in heaven.

"Te…"

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><p>…<p>

….

…..

….Well then. That went south quickly. Umm, review and comment I suppose?


	3. Chapter 2: Horrifying BBQ

Two Posts within three months! I must pat myself on the back! Seriously though, I MAY be cheating when I say that this and Chapter 1 are separate posts. They are actually both part of one mega chapter that I broke down into two because **OMFG SO LONG!** (Over 15 pages on Word Docs) But none the less, here you are my lovelies! There is Arsenal being his badass self. (Finally!) And data Da! The first encounter!

So review and comment because it's my life force!

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><p>"<em>Italics" = Spoken in a languages other than English<em>

_Italics = Thoughts_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

**In which the idea BBQ becomes horrific**

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><p>Boston, MA<p>

February 5th 2017, 20:15 EDT

It was when he finally got close enough to let the arrow fly that Arsenal decided he really hated the whole just in the nick of time thing. It was a) nerve wracking, b) incredibly difficult to pull off without anyone getting hurt and c) downright inefficient. He cursed himself for not thinking of the fact that the scumbag could have very well found someone outside to use as collateral. As it was he was pleased to see the blunt arrow tear the gun out of the mans hand and into a nearby wall, where the barrel proceeded to warp into uselessness. The next arrow knocked the man spinning like a drunken merry-go-round and the girl, once again, into a snowdrift. Great. That should give him time to get down there and beat some sense into that asshole.

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The world was knocked spinning like a top as my knees and chin made violent contact with the compacted ice as I fell like a plane blown from the sky. Little dots coalesced and contracted as the world swum in and out of focus like a bad home video. My fear, gone from a little jibbering bystander to a full on dictator screamed disjointed words along the lines of run, kick, bite, plead, LIVE! My bones were full of hot coals, my skin boiled, my eyes burned, my hair ached. It felt like someone was pouring molten metal down my throat, settling in white hot mass in my stomach, pumping it through my veins, trying to rip me open and incinerate me till I was nothing but smoldering ash and fragments of blackened bones.

"What tha…"

I didn't think. I didn't consider. I don't even remember moving, but somehow my arms where in front of my face, my hands thrown out as if to protect or plead or both… And white hot flames roared into life from the exact center of my outstretched palms.

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Arsenal wasn't aware it was possible to change direction midair without being a italian plumber. Adrenalin however, as it almost always did, proved him wrong as his body twisted like a snake hyped up on sugar, recoiling from the sudden rush of unbearable heat. As it was he could FEEL his skin crisping. He landed chin-first, jaw hitting the metal of the roof of a warehouse, and he winced as he felt a couple molars come loose of his gums. He ran his tongue over them, wincing as he pressed the roots back into their rightful spots in his jaw. He smacked his lips, swallowed a bit metallic blood and waited for his two eyes to get their damn act together and see only one freaking picture. He smelled something rank and wrinkled his nose in disgust. Was that him? He hoped not. It smelled like charred meat mixed with burnt metal. A muffled but persistent howl of pain gouged in on his personal ache-filled world. Arsenal gritted his teeth (Which he instantly regretted) and rolled over onto his back. Couldn't somebody shut up that SOB?! Arsenal just wanted to lie down and try to remember how to breath again. And take a nap. A nap sounded REALLY good right now.

His eyes flew open. Sh*t. This SOB was kinda his job, wasn't he? Sh*t. Groaning and jumping to his feet, (As much as he could with two fuzzy dots taking up his vision) Arsenal peered over the roof, bionic arm at the ready. The alley was cloaked in a thick veil of steam and the noise was coming from the man whose gun he had taken out. He was curled into a fetal ball, clutching his face and howling like a wounded animal. Ok. Admittedly Arsenal was no shrink but that didn't seem like normal behavior for a guy who had ten seconds ago threatened to shoot a bullet into a girls brain.

Holding his arm at the ready, Arsenal dropped into the steam choked alley.

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It was like dropping into a sauna. Despite the cold winter night that ranged around it the alley itself felt like a greenhouse had gone rouge and decided that here was the perfect place to create a tropical rainforest. Arsenal trod through puddles of water with a few solitary ice crystals floated for seconds before melting into nothingness. As the heat and steam grew thicker, the howling grew louder. Arsenal dropped into a crotch, shuffling closer by inches, revving up his lazer just enough so the little pilot light glowed like a beacon, ready to fire on a seconds notice. He nearly tripped over the guy before he saw him. He was still curled into a ball wailing and clutching at his face, his back to the living security breach. Arsenal growled, and yanked the man up by the back of his shirt collar, spun him around… And nearly yacked all over the pavement.

The mans face looked like a piece of meat that had been burnt beyond recognition but by some unholy law of the universe was still raw and bloody under the crackling black exterior. An ear appeared to be fused to the side of his head, cartilage melting and melding with the bloody hairless mess that was the side of the mans face. Huge pus filled blisters swelled along the mans neck and jaw. The left eye now was a cloudy mess as iris and pupil melted into each other while gelian like fluid dripped from… oh Hell.

Fighting down a new wave of nausea, Arsenal raised two fingers two his earpiece. It rang softly in the silence of the alley.

"Arsenal?" a voice cracked through the earpiece sounded on the verge of panic.

"Blue Beetle. Come to the corner of..."

Arsenal squinted through the steam to a poorly maintained signpost across the street.

"Jefferson and Hunt. There's a guy here who needed medical attention yesterday and I need you to analyze..."

Arsenal felt the attack before he saw it. The sudden heat hit his back just seconds before a white hot tongue of fire blasted into the exact spot he had been standing. He rolled into a fighting stance, arm at the ready. Next to him the white hot side of an empty dumpster hissed and spat like an angry opossum as the now liquid metal dribbled into a nearby puddle.

"I… I'm not afraid of you!" said a female voice.

It was true. The voice didn't sound scared. It sounded shit-your-pants terrified.

"I know how to use this!" said the voice with absolutely no conviction.

Through a small gap in the steam, Arsenal glimpsed his attacker. She was about his age, (or the age he appeared to be anyway.) with dark, shoulder length hair and light brown skin. Her eyes were big and wild, like someone let off a bullhorn right next to her ear. Which, he supposed, in some way they had. She was holding her right hand out in front of her as if she was afraid of it, pointing her index finger vaguely in his general direction. Shit. This wasn't gonna end well was it. Pulling upon his limited social skills, Arsenal attempted to diffuse the situation.

"What the HELL do you think you're doing!?"

He did say attempt. He never said it was particularly effective.

There was a sound akin to a small animal in distress and he ducked as another fireball roared toward the wall on his right. He was still blinking the purple after-images out of his eyes when he heard her legging it out of the alley and down the nearby street.

"Arsenal?" Blue Beetle's panicked voice crackled through his earpiece. Only now did Arsenal realize he had probably been shouting in his ear throughout the whole exchange.

"Blue Beetle… yeah, forget about the analysis part. I think I just ran into the perpetrator. On a related note, I need the lactaid to keep tabs on someone."

333333

It was a rather boring night for Officer Keats. He was on desk duty tonight and thus had missed the big hullabaloo of the burning warehouse, a fact of which he was a bit resentful. But duty was duty and despite all his complaining he did enjoy being a cop. He had just grabbed his mug for a coffee run to the break room when there was a pounding on the stations main door. Confused, he peered out the door only to see a middle-eastern girl that looked scared witless. He proceeded to the unlocked door and opened it.

"Can I help you miss?" he asked her gently.

For a couple seconds the girl stood there blankly, fist still raised to knock. Finally she blinked and lowered the appendage carefully. She blinked again and, appearing to address empty air rather than anyone in particular asked,

"Do you know CPR?"

Keets blinked.

"Yes..?"

"How to handle shock related injuries?"

"Yes…" Keets said again beginning to worry.

"I see, how are your reflexes?"

"Good, listen miss are you o…"

"Excelent. And I am sorry about this."

Keets was barely able to catch the girl before she hit the floor.

* * *

><p>Dun dun duuuuuu! Cliffhanger! Sorry if it feels rushed, I was running out of ideas.<p>

As always review and comment!

Zoo Out!


	4. Chapter 3: In Which I Lose My Cool

Ah...Haha… Hi? Yes, I am horrible. I have no excuse. I'm just sorry. In apology I shall write the next chapter as either a WonderBeetle or Arsenal/OC depending upon what you vote for in the review… Thing… Umm… Ok then.

Enjoy

* * *

><p>"Italics" = Spoken in a languages other than English<p>

Italics = Thoughts

* * *

><p>Chapter 3<p>

In which I lose my cool… and go in hot

* * *

><p>Boston, MA<p>

February 8th 2017, 06:50 EDT

I was awakened by a furry tail to the face and a louder than strictly necessary meow.

"Valentine, what part of leave of absence do you fail to understand?"

She just meowed again and tucked her head under my chin which caused me to forgive her instantly (Again). I rubbed her back and looked up at the ceiling, tracing cracks in the plaster and tried not to think about the last three days in any distinct detail. I was still in that hazy, in between state of waking and sleeping and maybe, just maybe, if I kept verrry still and verrry quiet I could…

And it was at that moment that Henry Guan decided to kick his ancient van's rear in gear. The thing was worse that an elderly air-condition unit with the flu. In the background I could hear his brothers jeering at one another as they clambered inside, hitting each other with backpacks and giving the youngest brother, Edward, a hard time. I growled, threw off the covers and stomped to the window and glared down at them. Henry spotted me.

"Hey Hafsa, do need a ri…"

I slammed the window shut in his face, partially because I was mad he had woken me up, and partially because explaining exactly what I was still doing in my pajamas 20 minutes before school was due to start was a conversation I didn't want to have out a window. Or ever, really. Still scowling I marched back to my bed and sat down hard, blowing air out my nose like a bull. Valentine just cocked her tabby head to the side and mewled at me, big green eyes gleaming, batting the drawstring of my onesie with a white paw. I sighed. What was it about having Valentine around that made it so hard to stay mad? Sighing again, I picked her up, cuddling her to my chest, sinking my face into her furry shoulders. After five minutes, she applied gentle yet firm pressure to the back of my shoulder with her claws, as if to say,

"Hey, I'm sorry you're upset, but their is a limited amount of kitty therapy I can do on an empty stomach. We might want to fix that ya?"

Why must my cat be so practical? About ten minutes later, we were downstairs, her eating the leftover frozen cocktail shrimp from New Years and I stuffing my face with pad-thai still in the takeout container. Chewing absently, I stared blankly at the opposite wall as images from what was possibly the worst night in my life played themselves across my vision in excruciatingly vivid detail. What the hell had happened back there? It had been like having a fever, if a fever was a living thing that was trying to become a chestburster from Alien. It had HURT goddammit! Like my DNA was being unwound and forcibly stuffed with at least 3 dozen new letters. That had been soaked in corrosive acid.

And then of course I had fainted into the arms of that cop, which was not only mortifyingly embarrassing but also almost cost me a trip to questioning. I just was thankful that in the craziness of the fire, no one had given much thought to a fainted girl with singed sleeves. Of which I was very glad they hadn't or else they might have had some very convincing evidence along the line of arson. Which it wasn't! I had been running AWAY from the fire. Wow, that didn't make it much better did it? I would have sucked at the whole questioning thing.

3333333333

To say Arsenal was having a bad day would be like saying Cupid had a crush on Green Arrow. In other words, complete and gross understatement that was likely to get you killed. As was his custom, he had ditched the Clubhouse before they had beamed up to the Watchtower, offering a basic explanation of his part of the stakeout turned raid for Blue Beetle to relay to Aqualad. He had then zataed to the nearest of his safe houses, an abandoned Katrina house in New Orleans only to discover that in his absence, someone had gotten past his various traps and managed to snag his sleeping bag and about two months worth of food. Oh, and there was a feral cat somewhere in the rafters. Arsenal hated cats. At least the damn thing hadn't shit in his clothes again. Shrugging out of his uniform, Arsenal pulled on a pair of oversized but comfy jeans, grabbed an old band t-shirt (Eight years old to be exact. Red had given him some of his/their old clothes) and, feeling the chill in the air, dragged a dark blue hoodie over it.

Peeling his mask off his face he surveyed his cramped quarters, contemplating what to do. It was too early and he was too whipped to do anything about his stolen supplies until (later) morning, but he would have to get them back soon. His emergency food stash only covered about another's week, and as it was it was mostly protein bars. But as it was he wolfed down five and curled up on the ratty mattress, trying not to miss his sleeping bag to much. Soon he was dead asleep.

33333333

Most of the time, I quite enjoyed having a brain. My brain was useful, and dare I say sometimes extremely fun. It could figure out solutions to software bugs. It could read a book an concoct a moving, living image based upon words on a page. It could maneuver my limbs into the needed positions in order to pet a kitty's tummy. It could also, more often then I would care to admit, make the decision to veg out in front of the tv watching Charlie's Angels. Unfortunately, for all it's processing power, it seemed quite content to sit at the kitchen island, stare vaguely at the refrigerator and reflect upon the fact that it's host could apparently shoot FREAKING FLAMES out of her hands. I was, as we say in layman's terms, flipping the hell out.

My mother, oblivious to my current plight, was trying to contact my grandmama. Which, given the extensive surveillance of any calls from Bialya to the States and vice versa, ment she was being shuffled through various servers, middle-men and exorbitantly high prices to get her (possible) five minute phone call. By about the sixth line change I could see her jaw beginning to clench. Usually it was around this point that some member of our family would approach her and gently ask if we could hold the phone for a while she did X, Y or Z, which was code for;

"You look like you want to reach though the phone and strangle someone, so I think it's best if you go take it out on the throw pillow then the next poor sap who comes online, no matter how much he/she deserves it. (And lets face it, you and I both know they do.)"

But somehow I couldn't do it. My muscles failed to respond, my mind was blank as a new piece of paper. And suddenly something began to spread across my consciousness, dark and insidious like and oil spill, creeping up on unsuspecting neurons and swallowing them whole.

Didn't we tell you?

It reached into my memories and began searching.

We did try to warn you.

It rushed past recent memories, memories of what Alice, Katie and I had planned to do this weekend, before my life went to shit.

You thought you could escape? You were wrong.

Even deeper, past my sixteenth birthday, past Jawdah's middle school basketball tournament, past the start of sophomore year, past our vacation to Maine, past Humam's graduation from BU.

But then that's no big surprise is it? You… Being wrong...

I'm watching my life unravel backwards like a cassette tape, images flashing by quicker and quicker, dragging me back to a place I never wanted to see again.

You can't escape what you are.

I'm frozen now, as the words grip my soul and drag me under, filling my lungs with soot and my blood with fire, pulling me down, down, down.

You were made for someone else. Every breath you breathe, every pint of blood in your veins exists because they say it can. You are just a piece in a game, another ant waiting to be squashed. And to think you could have been someone.

The door is visible now. Its plain and white and doesn't have a doorknob. Behind it is a room. A room that's worse than all the other rooms in this building. It screams at me and tells me things that make me want to cry, but I can't, I CAN'T. And the worst part is I think it's telling the truth.

Now princess, shall we try that one more time?

Something inside me snaps and suddenly all I can feel is unfathomable white hot rage. I awake to a blaring of a fire alarm, my mother's screaming and a half inch deep imprint my hands have left in the stone table top.

* * *

><p>Apparently I have a thing for cliffhangers. Who knew? So, do you want to see more ArsenalOC or Wonderbeetle next chapter? I know, I know, curse me for my slow narrative pace but I've never been a gal who gets things over with quickly. Stories and S'mores are both better if it's a slow burn, I find.

Anyway's, review and comment and all that swell stuff!

(Yes I used the word swell. No, I did not use it ironically)

Zoo Out, Peace!


	5. Chapter 4: So You Think You're a Meta?

So, No one voted...

:`(

But **purplechic13 **did leave a lovely comment that cheered me up and got the creative juices flowing again. I got my Mojo back baby! Anyways here I am, making my slow burn story s'more. Hopefully we will actually get somewhere today! (Or tomorrow. Or a week from now. Or…)

Enjoy

* * *

><p>"<em>Italics" = Spoken in a languages other than English<em>

_Italics = Thoughts_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

**So You Think Your A Metahuman?**

* * *

><p>New Orleans, LA<p>

February 8th 2017, 18:56 CST

A blatant chirping sound roused Arsenal from a strange dream that consisted of a giant Blue Beetle asking him to pass him the coleslaw as they roasted colossal hotdogs over the burning warehouse. Blearily, Arsenal glared at the blinking blue light of his communicator with the sort of menace he usually reserved for his enemies and overly happy people. The tiny light refused to be intimidated however and he resolved to ignore it, pulling his pillow up and over his head in an attempt to block out the sound.

It worked too. After about a minute the the chirping subsided and Arsenal relaxed into the blissful silence.

That lasted for all of five seconds.

And then it was back again, louder and more strident, causing him to growl and mash the pillow so hard against his ears that he was nearly positive some feathers had taken up residence in his ear canal. What the hell did they want from him?! He wasn't one of the League's trained monkeys, ready to do whatever stupid mission they sent him on at the drop of a hat. He had only agreed to help Blue Beetle and the little Lactaid because he had been casing the place for months and had, grudgingly, admitted to himself it was too big a bust to handle on his own. He was a solo act, not mentally unbalanced.

At some point during to his mental tirade the little device had ceased beeping. Arsenal waited. A minute passed. Another. After about six minutes Arsenals sleepiness finally got the best of him and he allowed his head to nod and his eyes to close.

"HEY **SPEEDY**! Get up off your lazy butt and talk to us!"

With a speed that startled even him, Arsenals hand shot out from under the pillow, grabbed the communicator, wound up like a World Series Pitcher and chucked the thing into the opposite wall, where it made a satisfying thumping sound.

The communicator made a crackling sound and a new voice replaced the Lactaids (Who was DEAD next time Arsenal saw him, He bet his crossbow on that)

"Ok, who gave KF the mic?" This voice was male and it sounded annoyed.

"Don't ask me, I didn't even know he was in here!" This voice was female and much less miffed.

"Blue?"

"Hey, I just got here. I have no idea what's going on either."

"Where's Miss Martian when you need her?"

"Off duty with Superboy. Something about a "hot date." Her words, not mine."

"Eww... gross! That my big sister you're talking about Cassie!"

"Sorry Garfield."

"I have lost all control of the situation."

"Sorry to break this to you Rob, but I don't think you ever had it."

"Thank you Robin. I'll take it from here." This voice was calmer, older and considerably more authoritative than the previous four voices.

"Arsenal? This is Aqualad. I would like to discuss the details of last night's mission. I have been informed that you may have encountered another Reach triggered metahuman."

THAT got Arsenal's attention. He sat up like the mattress had electrocuted him and stared so hard at the little device that if he had been a meta, he would have incinerated it. A few sleepy brain cells banged together, trying to jarr free the memory of last night (Or was it this morning?) in any clear detail. A terrified face and two huge green eyes summoned themselves up from the depths of his subconscious and kick-started a few neurons. He groaned as he discovered what a small part of his brain had been trying to tell him sence he stared down those glass green eyes and felt the heat of a molten furnace singe the hair on his neck. Reluctantly, he stood up and dragged his feet toward the little blinking device, stooped to pick it up and…

And that's when the damn CAT jumped down from the rafters and on to his head.

333333333

The Watchtower, In Orbit

February 8th 2017, 19:01 CST

The occupants of the communications box where looking around nervously at each other while the sounds of small scale combat raged from the speakers that were transmitting all sound from Arsenals communicator, before returning their attention to Aqualad, standing serenely, apparently unfazed by all the fuss, mic still in hand.

"Arsenal, do you copy." he said, raising his voice slightly as something that sounded like glass smashed on some unseen wall.

There was no response apart from the sound of more things breaking and a stream of colorful swear words that got more creatively vile by the second.

"Arsenal come in." Aqualad said, shifting to his Leader voice. It was near imperceptible even to those who knew him well, but a certain cast to his jaw and cast to his stance that told them that Aqualad was getting… Annoyed. Yes. Annoyed with the capital letter. He might have not been part of the Bat-Clan, but he had commanded four and worked alongside two and that alone was enough to make him a force to be reckoned with. Bart did a dry-swallow.

"Ok… Hands for whoever wants to get out of here before we become collateral damage." he whispered hoarsely. Three hands shot in to the air as if from a plasma cannon. In fact, one was a plasma cannon, Jaime's elevated fight-or-flight response having triggered Khaji-Da's defense mechanisms. Tim was nowhere to be seen. The door out was still swinging.

"I HATE it when they do that!" hissed the speedster as Jaime and Cassie each grabbed a shoulder and dragged him out backwards by his uniform, Gar sprinting ahead of them. They caught another loud crash and a cry of, "I'll kill you ya mangy fleabag!" before the door swung shut behind them.

33333333333

Boston, MA

February 8th 2017, 20:05 EST

My father has a very precise way of dealing with unexpected occurrences. You don't just BECOME a publicist for a military dictator and not have some plan for dealing with unexpected eventualities. Ok, to be fair, many DO but none of them have particularly long life expectancies. It could be broken down into a series of precise steps, each of which triggered another set of steps depending on the outcome of prior steps.

The first was, of course, to remain calm, both for your own safety and the safety of others. Scared people make rash decisions and when said person is holding you at gunpoint, it's generally best for your health to not give them any reason to use said gun. Step two was to assess the situation. See what everyone wanted out of the scenario and use that to try and minimise stress and manipulate the events to your advantage. Step three was to try and solve the problem on your own, if possible, or with others in the immediate vicinity. If you were unable to do so you moved on to Step four, endeavor to contact someone who can. Step five was to wait patiently for a problem to resolve itself and/or repeat steps 1-4 as necessary. Or die, which explained why, at age 16, my father had regularly updated his Last Will and Testament.

Somehow I doubted he had ever factored in that possibility that his teenage daughter could shoot fire so hot it melted pottery into a bubbling, soupy mess that left a distressing grey-red stain on the patio, but the approach had worked for 48 years and he was sticking to it.

We had breezed by steps one and two, dismissed step three out of hand and where now pondering step four, i.e. who the hell we could call so that this mess would make any kind of sense!? I clutched Valentine to me like a security blanket, sitting unusually still as talk flew between my parents like messenger pigeons. The family doctor had been ruled out, along with a steadily increasing list of other medical practices. They had now tentatively brought up the idea of science and research labs around the city. There were some branches of Star Labs, Queen Industry's, Wayne Enterprises and (You could tell they were getting desperate) LexCorp.

In my mind I shot all of them down with my new built-in flamethrowers. It was my fear of professional sterilized rooms compounded in to one bite-sized package of terror. The thought of anyone hooking me up to ANYTHING mechanical caused me to have a small, centralized anxiety attack right there on the couch.

"_Mama, Papa, can I go for a walk?" _

Their expressions registered their shock at the unexpected outburst. I was shocked too. I hadn't actually spoken since the table incident, but the words had forced their way out like a weed though a sidewalk crack. There was a few minutes of deafening silence, before my mother finally said,

"_Of course sweet one, but are you sure…" _The silence stretched out uncomfortably as she weighed several different options in her head before settling lamely for,

"_You feel well?"_

I gave her a smile that I hoped was sunny, but in reality was probably something between a grimace and a sob and said,

"_Ya, fine. I just need to get some air."_

Another pause while they factored in the fact that it was a) My car was still waiting on new wheels b) I was in my pajamas, c) It was February and thus cold and d) the limited amount of places I could actually go given the prior specifications. Finally deciding that the chances of me committing, a) a serious crime or b) grievous bodily harm were slim to none, my father finally conceded with,

"_Yes, of course. Just be back for dinner."_

I smiled again and carefully set Valentine down on her pillow. I got up, kissed them both on the cheek and still smiling, walked out to grab my coat and boots. The smile remained till I was almost a block away from home, when it then proceeded to drop like a stone and the same time I kicked my rear so hard into gear that I almost ice skated the first ten feet.

33333333333

The Watchtower, In Orbit

February 8th 2017, 19:24 CST

Arsenal may have lacked several things as a teenage vigilante superhero. A steady education. A pair of wheels. A base of operations. A Mentor. Any kind of reliable healthcare. But, they would have to admit his intimidating glare was on point. Which was why Bart was using Cassie, Virgil and the new girl, Jennifer aka Jade, as a meat shield between him and the archer.

"Jeez Kid. What did you do to him?" asked Virgil over his shoulder.

"Why do you immediately assume it was me!" complained the speedster ducking lower to avoid the glare that was trying to burn holes through his skull.

"Because I lived with the guy, remember? And the only time I saw him look like that was when somebody had shoved a gun in his face. And when Asami tried to wake him up. But to fair, it was at five at the morning. I don't know how Ty stands it. The girl has no concept of sleeping in."

"You brought it on yourself _hermano_." came Jaime's voice from further down the kitchen counter, where he sat, pencil eraser in teeth, pouring over various sheets of notes and a big textbook. "Incidentally, does anyone know what t = ol/al means? I can't read my own notes and Khaji-Da won't tell me. Said that I 'Need to exercise primary neurons pertaining to the parahippocampal region to attain peak biological potential" but I think he's just being lazy."

"T = ol/ al, right?" said Cassie, sliding to a stool next to the third Blue Beetle. He blinked owlishly at her.

"_Que_? Oh, right, I mean yes."

The demigoddess studied the paper intently for a couple of seconds before her face brightened in to a smile.

"Oh I see. Pythagorean Theorem right? So that means its tangent equals opposite leg divided by adjacent. So you have to divide the square root of six by three to get X."

There was a moment of silence as the room adjusted itself to this new development. Cassie blushed pink and said, "I used to accompany my mom on a lot more of her digs. I got most of my schooling from tenured professors and their assistants and uhhh…"

She petered out for a moment before…

"_Híjole_, Cassie that's amazing! You just saved from flunking Trig and you didn't even break a sweat! How did you do that?" The wattage contained in Jaime's smile could have powered the state of Rhode Island for a month. Cassie blushed harder. Virgil studied a piece of wall with great interest and wondered if someone should do something about the embarrassingly pink cloud forming over his two teammates.

He was saved the trouble of making this decision however, when the intercom crackled and a voice proclaimed to the empty air,

"... and roast chicken nibblets!"

"Who are you?" Batgirls voice came through the speakers. She was using the infamous "Bat Voice" that could have untrained criminals wetting themselves in terror at the very sound of it. There was a long, crackling pause and then the voice said,

"You're not Mr. Emmett are you?" in the kind of tone one usually reserves for being chastised by your mother or for people holding a gun to your temple and demanding all of your valuables RIGHT NOW.

"No." Batgirl's voice had added another layer of crackling ice to her already sub-zero tone.

"Ah. Good to know. Follow up question, who are you? It's just, I've bounced around to so many separate departments my head is starting to spin."

"I believe I asked you first."

There was another pause, followed by a sigh so defeated it was waving a white flag.

"Someone who needs help." The voice was small and tired and now had a hint of a foreign accent.

"Look, I can't GO to anyone else. I only exist in the paper trail is 'cause you can't DO anything in this world without one. And there's a REASON why I keep it that way. I can't go to a lab. I can't even go through the normal healthcare practitioners because a) I doubt they could help me anyway and b) This can't get out to ANYONE. Honestly, I don't even know why I'm calling you, except that I'm so desperate right now anything seems like a good option. That and the fact that if I don't have something to focus on I might accidently light myself on fire."

There was another pause before Batgirl, in a slightly softer voice, asked,

"What's your name?"

This silence stretched out for so long Virgil began to wonder if the mystery voice had hung up before it said, with a confidence that hadn't been there before,

"Pyre. My name is Pyre."

* * *

><p>Uh huh, uh huh, uh huh uh huh uh huh<p>

Did I include the Watchtower AND the OC? You bet I did! WITH character development? Plus a little WonderBeetle fluff thrown in? I might get the hang of this after all! But seriously, I think I've found a schedule of chapter releases that works for me.

On the 7th of every month (Or 8th. Oops.) I will release a new chapter of NATA (Never Admit to Anything) to the world at large. That gives me roughly 31 days (An average month) to think of, write, revise and quickly edit a chapter. I'm not the best editor in the world, so forgive me if there are some mistakes.

See you all (Hopefully) Next month!

Zoo Out, Peace!


	6. Chapter 5: In Which I Get Help

Geez this was hard to write. I'm getting to the point where I am actually getting somewhere with the story, so now I have to start taking it seriously. Consider how the show was written, the personalities created for it and how my creation fits in to the universe. Also developing quirks, backgrounds and characterization for canon characters that didn't get a lot of screen time. Sure I've got something,(*cough*wikipedia*cough*) but it's still not going to fit everything perfectly. And now I'm just babbling.

Ah well...

Enjoy

* * *

><p>"<em>Italics" = Spoken in a languages other than English<em>

_Italics = Thoughts_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

**In Which I Get Help**

* * *

><p>Boston, MA<p>

February 10th 2017, 14:35 EST

The playground was full of snow.

It was the uncomfortable, half ice kind that happens after a thaw freezes again. You could crack your skull on it if you weren't careful. But Miss Martian didn't have that problem. You generally don't when you're floating a few inches above the ground. Conner had been concerned about her going in alone. He had been very protective since she got out of therapy with Black Canary, with a warning that this was a one-strike-your-out deal concerning abuse of telepathy, trying to shield her from anything that would upset her. It was sweet, in a way, but she just wished he'd stop walking on eggshells around her. She told him as much, or something that was equivalent to it, on the way over here.

"Look, I just don't think you should go out alone." he grumped turning his chair around so he could address her directly. She rolled her eyes,

"But I won't BE alone. I'll have you and Robin for backup."

"Not NEXT to you. What happens if this mystery person lashes out?"

"Then I'll defend myself. But they won't lash out. Their just a scared and confused kid."

"A scared and confused kid that can wield superheated FLAMES. I don't see why Batgirl can't do it. You know how heat affects you."

"Top secret mission in Bialya remember? Besides, she can't incapacite a hostile without touching them. I can. And I am almost 100 percent certain I won't NEED to."

He scowled, but they had known each other for nearly seven years now and he knew when she put her foot down the matter was closed.

"I still don't like it." He grumbled as the camouflaged bioship alighted on top of the school building. She rolled her eyes.

"Connor, I'll be fine." she said, floating up and planting a quick kiss on his cheek.

"See you soon."

333333333333

"The John Adams Elementary Playground, Boston MA, 2:30. I'll wait for an hour. If you're not there by 3:30 I'm hitting the road."

"You're making it sound like you ransoming somebody." Robin had remarked over Batgirl's shoulder as his comrade tried desperately to trace the signal of the incoming call.

"Yep. Myself." The voice had said over the intercom. "We got a deal or what?"

Robin turned off the microphone.

"Batgirl, have you pinpointed the signal yet?"

She huffed a strand of red hair out of her eyes. "The best that I have is that it's from a payphone in Boston. Whoever we're talking to has a good grasp on adaptive security systems. Its almost like the damn program is alive. But I CAN run the voice through a recognition program."

The Boy Wonder sighed. "I guess it have to do." He flicked on the microphone again.

"All right Pyre. We have a deal."

3333333333

Miss Martian found her on the swing set. The bright red coat she had described hung loosely off her shoulders, wavy dark hair spilling out of the trilby hat that had been pulled low over the face. One boot drew an aimless pattern in the snow around it. Carefully, as not to startle her new companion, Miss Martian took a seat on the other unoccupied swing. The figure jerked slightly at the clink of the chain but otherwise showed no sign of acknowledging Miss Martian's presence.

"Hafsa Alia El-Amin?"

This time the figure froze, as if it had been struck. Then the shoulders sagged, the head drooped and a small voice from the depths of the hat asked,

"How did you know?"

Miss Martian smiled gently, though she wasn't sure if the girl could see it in the depths of the hat.

"Well, you got the untraceable call part of the supervillain M.O, but-"

"I'm not a supervillain!" the girl burst out, her emotions immediately snapping to the defensive, her mind closing in on itself like a steel trap.

"I'm not implying you are." Miss Martian said soothingly, trying to get the girl back from whatever cliff edge she had unwittingly pushed her too.

_Hello Megan! Newsflash, this is why you leave lighting the mood to Gar!_

"I was just trying to explain how we found you and trying to put you at ease. But you're right. That joke was tasteless and I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

There was a tense moment which stretched out almost too long before a certain exhalation of breath and relaxation of the shoulders told M'gann that all had been forgiven, for now. Thank you Black Canary. Those negotiation tactics and basic psychology lessons where really paying off. She had to remember to get her a BIG box of chocolates from _Le Petit Cygne _when this was all over. She took a deep breath, (An unneeded habit really, the oxygen rich atmosphere of Earth was an embarrassment of riches compared to her native Mars) and began again.

"BUT if you wished to remain anonymous in future, you might want to try to disguise your voice."

There was silence once more, before a sheepish laugh issued from the depths of the hat.

"Yeah, guess I really didn't think that one through huh?" said Hafsa, reaching up and taking the trilby off her head.

The face was indeed the one that Batgirl had showed them in one of the towers monitors. A light brown face with deep-set green eyes and high cheekbones, a straight thin nose and full lips. But it was also clear that this face hadn't been having the best sleep lately. There were deep bags under the eyes and the whole demeanor suggested that Hafsa was one hour and a missed coffee away from dropping like a fly.

"It's not easy is it? Finding out that you can suddenly do things you never even considered a possibility before." It was a safe bet and as luck would have it, hit the bullseye. Hafsa slumped even further down in her seat and the sigh she emitted sounded like it had been dragged from the very depths of her being.

"I just don't know what to do…" She said in a small voice. "I can't go to a doctor, god knows they'll have no idea what to do, I don't want to be some lab's guinea pig, my parents won't let me near ANYBODY including my little brother and the worst part is I think they have a point! It's not that I'd ever want to hurt him it's just…"

"They're worried because, even though you would never intentionally harm him, or anyone around you for that matter, your powers are very unstable and apparently linked to your mental state. And if you experience high amounts of stress, anger, fear, even joy you could unintentionally harm someone with the backlash."

The girl nodded dejectedly before her eyebrows furrowed and she fixed the Martian with and unerringly intense stare.

"How did you know it's…" but M'gann's pointed look cut her off. She looked down.

Her boots were smoking and the center of a steadily increasing puddle of melted ice. She yelped and picked both feet off the ground, holding her legs out straight in front of her as if trying to keep them at a safe distance. At the same time the hiss and ping of cooling metal brought her attention to her hands. The chain links around them glowed red hot. She yelped again, let go, lost her balance on the seat and fell backward in to the puddle before M'gann could react. There was a heartfelt groan from the puddle and a muffled murmur of

"Shit."

3333333

If there was one good thing about that fiasco, (And believe me it was REALLY hard to find) it was that I was apparently my own clothes dryer. A bit of concentration and a few seconds was all it took to get my soaking wet rear dry again. Now I was sitting on a bench, praying to god I didn't burn it down and trying to process what the nice green martian lady was telling me.

"I have to WHAT?!"

"Let me examine your memories." She said, looking nearly as uncomfortable about the prospect as me. She sighed.

"Look I understand why you're uncomfortable about it. On Earth the mind is a very private thing, a fact I have recently re-learned in great detail. But there is protocall I have to follow before I can offer you anything other than the most basic assistance and I don't think that is going to help you current position in any way if you're not cleared for it. So I really do feel like I have to ask your permission to examine your recent memories."

A cold wave of panic rushed up my spine and sent my pulse in to overdrive. I did a dry swallow.

"How recent we talkin' here?" I asked, willing my voice not to shake. She considered this.

"About two weeks? A month and a half at the outside."

I let go of a breath I didn't know I was holding in. I could handle that. But stil…

"And there is no other way around this?" I asked, knowing with absolute and unfaltering certainty that there wasn't. She smiled again.

"Afraid not. May I?"

I sighed heavily and closed my eyes.

"Yeah, sure. Go ahead."

For a few seconds there was nothing but my own eyes staring at my closed lids. Then something brushed against my consciousness and it was like the time Humam and Jawdah had poured a bucket of ice cubes down the back of my shirt for a joke. I jumped and immediately stiffened. My jaw clenched, my hands balled in to fists and my arms locked at my sides. My spine snapped to rigid attention and I tried not to whimper at the odd sensation of being two people at once. The presence gently prodded about for a few seconds before sighing and withdrawing from my mind.

"Hafsa."

"Yes?" I cringed at how squeaky it sounded, but kept my eyes shut tight.

"I'm going to have to ask you relax. Right now I feel like you believe I would rip the information out of your mind and that's a unpleasant experience for me, not to mention you. I want you to focus on something other than me right now. Picture something that makes you happy or something that you can focus on intensely and it will be a lot easier for both of us. You think you can do that?"

I bit my lip. Hard. Somehow I doubted anything less than the most supreme joy could distract from the fact your mind was no longer just your own, however temporary. I shuffled through a few fond memories, but all of them either didn't have enough long time staying power or were too private to show to someone I had technically just met. Something I could focus on, something that took up a lot of brainpower and emotional space in my head. So fixing the Century or… programming. And programming was a much more mental exercise than surfing the web for car parts or using power tools. Plus it had the added bonus of being near incomprehensible to people who didn't spend a good chunk of their time immersing themselves in it. I took a deep breath, waited till the lines of code began burning their bright blue script on the back of my corneas and nodded.

I knew what to expect now but it still was a shock when the martians mind brushed against mine for the second time. I took another deep breath and dove in to possible solutions to solving HIM's faulty spyware. There were technically endless possibilities to this issue, but only about nine that could conceivably work effectively and efficiently in any sort of reasonable timeframe. In my mind I began running preliminary tests.

My recent memories floated somewhere in the background, passing at unnatural speeds and not subject to my own mental wims. I concentrated harder. I had eliminated all non-trojan solutions and was now checking their basic operating speeds and possible delivery systems.

The memories where slowing, gaining a detail and clarity of thought that I was sure had not been there in the original view of events. Tireless wheels, pink flames, a chemical smell in the air.

I discarded three trojans and began deep analysis on the remaining two for stability and subtlety of their delivered packages in the target system.

The memories were nearly stagnant now, each being poured over like a frame of film, detail by detail before being turned over and replaced by the next one. She had gotten to the alley now. I could almost feel the cold metal of the barrel pressed against my temple.

Only one solution remained now. I began to flesh out the code in detail.

Fire roared from my palms in a blinding wave of heat and power, it's trajectory missing the left side of the thugs face by nearly a foot. Nevertheless, his skin began to bubble and run like a pan of fat left too long on the stove. The memory speed up, became a blur of color and sensations, retracted, died.

The last line of code clicked into place.

33333333

Watchtower, In Orbit

February 10th 2017, 16:20 CST

"So she's not a threat?" said Captain Atom studying the image of the self-dubbed 'Pyre' floating a few feet above his head. M'gann shook her head.

"Scared, untrained, volatile and potentially destructive powers but no, not a threat. At least not intentionally. I gave her the address of a safehouse in the area and told her to meet me there this Saturday for some basic training. I'd like to request Black Canary accompany me for the physiological side of the proceedings."

"Granted. You did tell her that it was classified information?"

"I did, but it was hardly necessary. I don't know what she's more afraid of, her powers or the possibility of someone finding out about them."

"Well that's one potential disaster averted. Thank you Miss Martian you are dismissed."

M'gann nodded and flew in the direction of the living quarters. Captain Atom continued to pour over a report of the chemical components of the new Reach soft drink.

"Do you need something Ms. Lance?" he asked, not looking around.

"I can't come see my newest patient?" joked Black Canary, stepping out of the door frame and walking in to the monitor womb. She studied the young woman floating along with all the information the League had been able to dredge up on her at short notice. Her eyebrows rose.

"Says here her family landed in August of 2006. I thought all the Bialyan refugees came over in the 70's."

"A few thousand, yes. Most of them ended up in Israel and Turkey, though I think about 11,000 ended up in France. But a couple hundred every four years or so turn up here and there. I understand there's a pretty active immigration routes in the desert."

Dinah eyebrows rose further. "Yes I read about that. And all of 38% make it out alive. Makes you wonder what was happening back then that made us ignore such a huge political upheaval."

"We had more pressing matters to attend to at the time."

Dinah's eyes narrowed but she decided against arguing. It would have been like trying to kickbox a brick wall. You might as well get yourself a cast and be done with it. She switched to a different topic.

"I guess it was only a matter of time. Almost all the major cities in the world are reporting some sort of metahuman activity. I'm amazed the Reach captured as many as they did. Static said they got to practically all the juvenile gang population of Dakota."

"You believe she was a runaway?"

Dinah studied the image again. "Somehow I doubt it. I'll ask her of course, but I'm willing to bet hard money it was something related to that chemical fire Arsenal started. Maybe the fumes kickstarted some dormant gene, or the man who captured her had residue on his hands. Either way we won't know anything until we can run some serious diagnostics on her and Miss Martian said she seemed pretty scared of the idea of playing guinea pig. We'll just have to wait and see."

* * *

><p>I'm late, I'm late, for a very important date!<p>

Sorry guys, life has been crazy, what with car trips and school prep and family visiting. Also my brain going off and making side tangents to this story instead of focusing on the main plot. I know that my chapters are going very slow, but bear with me I promise it gets better.

Tell me what you think, because if I don't get feedback I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU WANT!

Zoo Out, Peace!


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